


Baal's Hymn

by writtenbyizzy (BakerStreetMuse)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Sex, Angst, Biting, Infidelity, M/M, Rimming, Rough Sex, the struggle is real, this is totally how prison works what are you talking about?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 14:11:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4438532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BakerStreetMuse/pseuds/writtenbyizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal Lecter's regard comes with a price.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baal's Hymn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [drhanniballecter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drhanniballecter/gifts).



> Commissioned by drhanniballecter, who is both the light of my life and the fire of my loins. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

If her husband drinks a little more than she thinks is strictly necessary, Molly Graham keeps it to herself. She can tell from the look in his eyes and the extra finger of whiskey he’s drinking that he has more and worse to contend with than feeling a little sick in the morning. 

“Hey.” She tries lightly and with warmth. Will does not respond. Molly slides into bed beside him, dressed in only one of his old t-shirts and a pair of his small blue sleeping shorts. They hang low and loose on her hips and are stained with off-white paint, matching the walls around them, which they had painted together. 

She places a hand on his thigh. It's barely there and she hopes it will draw him out. For a second Molly thinks she might have reached her husband, but his deep breath is purely coincidental. He drinks. His eyes gleam. Molly wonders if he might cry, but knows that he won't. 

"You just have to talk to him tomorrow." She says, a little louder, applying slight pressure to his thigh. Will stares ahead blankly, trapped in a world which she is barred access. "Will!" She tries again and this time he startles like a spooked horse. He flings whiskey on the grey-blue comforter with a small groan. 

"I should put this is the wash--" 

"How bad will it really be, Will? Just a conversation. And then you'll be home the next day." 

"Yes," Will replies weakly. His fingers clench white around his tumbler. The small amount of whiskey left within sloshes as his hand twitches. "Just a conversation." 

\---

Will Graham nearly balks as he is led into the Baltimore State Hospital For The Criminally Insane. Three years without a case. Two years without a hallucination. Months and months and months married to a woman with a kind smile and a precocious son. He has almost fooled himself into believing he has settled into an average and complacent middle age, normal through and through. 

One step through the threshold and it is stripped away. The long corridors, the cells, the cages, they beckon to him. There is honesty in belonging, the potential energy for violence carrying the weight of crimes already and yet to be committed. He knows that he has more than earned his place here. It seems preposterous that it is only a matter of time before he leaves. 

Or maybe not. There are things he hasn't told Molly. 

"Well, well, well. Will Graham. What a pleasure." 

Dr. Frederick Chilton is as he always has been. Even three years after the collection of false impressions construed to be the man Dr Hannibal Lecter have been debunked, scattered, and almost forgotten, he operates under their shadow. He has constructed his appearance and office to inspire envy and awe, but he at worse inspires contempt and at best evokes the childish indulgence of a little girl barely managing to stand in her mother's heels. 

"Frederick." Will replies. 

"What a surprise. Your tragic attraction to the dark won out in the end." Dr. Chilton taps the cane he does not need against the floor. Will's jaw twitches. "The only mild surprise is that I haven't seen more of you. I heard you fix boat motors now? That must be incredibly stimulating." 

"What did you hold over Dr. Lecter? What did you force him to exchange? A test? An honest interview? A piece of his brain that you can keep in a pocket watch and whip out at galas? You're not in the business of doing favors." 

"I know what you told Jack Crawford to receive these privileges, and I do not believe a word of it. Not a single word." 

The pair sit in silence. They contemplate one another. 

"If you want to know your bride price, you will have to ask Hannibal. If you can find the time." 

\---

Will's mouth is set in a hard line. His shoulders are tense as he's led through the labyrinthine halls of the hospital. He is relieved of the contents of his pockets, his socks, and his shoes. These are replaced with scrubs. He is heavily guarded, watched warily, and encircled by four large uniformed hospital staff. There is no escape. He feels lightheaded as they approach the door and realizes that its because he has been holding his breath. 

"You have one hour, Mr. Graham." One of them says as the door is opened and he is all but pushed inside. 

Under the sterile white lights, dressed in unflattering scrubs, enclosed in a windowless room with the backdrop of a droning hum, Will Graham sees Hannibal Lecter for the first time in three years. He is dressed as an inmate, half shackled to the wall, and smiling as if they are on a gorgeous beach, bathing in the sun. His dark eyes are alight. He sits on the edge of a double bed with rough white sheets. It creaks beneath him. 

"Hello, Will." He says and it coils tightly within Will. The scar across his lower abdomen, now faded, seems to burn hot and bright. 

"Hello, Hannibal." It's acrid. It's sharp. It's breathless with relief. Hannibal's lips part. 

"You do not sound happy to see me, Will." 

"Happy is not the word I would use." 

"And yet, you sought me out." 

"I...it's the Tooth Fairy, he's--" 

"Ssh." Says Hannibal and Will falls silent. Hannibal rises, lordly and hypnotic. Will sways like a cobra in a basket ensnared by the pull of music. 

"Ssh." Hannibal exhales. He stands before Will, as far as the chain around his ankle will allow him to go. A hair's breadth of space exists between them. 

"I can't get into his mindse--" 

Ever pulled toward Hannibal, Will leans forward and Hannibal seizes him. Their mouths collide, lips on teeth on tongue, snarling like animals. Three years are erased, themselves remembered. A tension which had only mounted breaks in a spectacular maelstrom. Will digs his fingers into Hannibal's shoulders and Hannibal finds his own entwined in Will's hair. He pulls and Will keens with forgiveness, high pitched and desperate. 

"Oh god."Will breathes. He turns his head to the side, seeking space. His mind races. Hannibal takes advantage of his momentary weakness. He bites and licks and kisses. He nearly rips the fabric of Will's scrubs, ravenously seeking more and more skin to mark. 

"Hannibal, I don't know if I can." 

With one hand resting on Will's stomach, and the other buried in his hair, Hannibal freezes. For only a second Will glimpses the terror and fear in his eyes, and then it is gone. 

"Your wife and her son." 

Will says nothing. His fingers unconsciously flirt with the closely cropped ends of Hannibal's hair. He attempts to snatch his hand away and Hannibal takes it from him, pressing the knuckle to his lips. 

"Does she not see the prudence in serving one devil to defeat the other, Will?" 

"She doesn't see." Says Will, eyelids falling heavy as his fingers are kissed. "I didn't give her the opportunity to see." 

"Terribly naughty of you, Will." He bites down on a finger, just enough to shock. Hannibal's countless murders flash behind Will's eyes all at once, vivid and gory. Victorious red, piles of rent flesh serving a higher purpose. Their screams echo in his head. 

Will's cock twitches. 

They pull and paw and scratch and bite and claw at one another. Clothes are torn away. Will nearly screams as Hannibal's jagged teeth dig into his nipple and a thick finger probes at his twitching hole. He finds himself suddenly spread on the small bed on his back. The rough material of the blanket scrapes against his oversensitive skin. 

"I don't think married life suits you, Will." 

Will pants and shakes his head, whether in denial or agreement is irrelevant. Hannibal kisses his way down his stomach, pausing to suck a bruise into his hip bone. 

"You are acting as if you've never been touched before." 

Will peers up from beneath his lashes, curious, as Hannibal bypasses his aching cock and balls entirely. He roughly folds him in half, exposing him to the sterile hospital air. 

"Beautiful." Hannibal exhales and before Will can begin to deny it he flicks his tongue, catlike with delight. Will gasps high with every sucking kiss against his tightly furled little hole. Will begs Hannibal for more, he begs him to stop. He begs long and loud and desperately. Hannibal only applies more and more pressure, more tongue, until Will is gaping and he can easily slide two fingers inside him. 

With the deftness of a surgeon Hannibal find's his prostate. Will screams. 

"You have never been touched in this way, have you Will?" Hannibal rubs the rough little gland between his fingers once, then twice, and abruptly pulls his fingers out. Waiting on an answer. Will shakes his head, suddenly catching sight of Hannibal's cock, thick and long and intimidating. The uncircumcised head gleams with beads of precome. His mouth opens. Hannibal permits himself a smirk. 

A knock on the door sounds loud and shakes WIll from his trance. "Fifteen minutes, Mr. Graham." 

Will feels bereft as Hannibal leaps from on top of him. Cold air brushes against his spit-slick hole and he shivers. He watches as Hannibal reaches down, pulls a packet of lube from the floor, and begins to slick his cock. 

"Look at me, Will." Hannibal demands and WIll does not deny him. Their eyes lock as Hannibal sinks into him inch by inch. 

"Oh god." Will groans. 

"Does it hurt?" 

"Yes." 

"Good." 

Will hangs helplessly onto Hannibal as he slams his cock against his prostate again and again. Will wails. Tears stream down his face, clumping his long lashes into points,. His thighs burn. He feels as if he's being split in half. His cock throbs. 

"I want you to come for me, Will." 

Will keens. 

"Now." 

Hannibal only has to pump Will's cock twice before he comes, coating his and Hannibal's stomachs. His heart pounds, his back aches, his curls lay matted on his forehead. His nipples are swollen and from neck to thigh he is mottled in florid bite shaped bruises. 

A knock sounds again. 

"Five minutes, Mr. Graham!" 

"Now you." Says Will. His voice and eyes are soft. "Inside me, Hannibal. I want to feel it.' 

Hannibal finishes with a grunt, collapsing on top of Will. He chases his lips with his own until he finds them. The pair kiss languidly. Stroking gently, mapping lengths of skin and scar with their fingers. 

"Two minutes, Mr. Graham!" 

No knock this time. Suddenly aware of the hospital around them and his place within it, Will recoils. He grabs frantically for his clothes, ashamed of his nakedness. Hannibal stops him with a kiss, thumbing at his swollen lower lip. "You are not the only shy boy." He says. 

\--- 

That night, alone, in his hotel room, Will reluctantly washes the remains of their lovemaking from his skin. He takes stock of every mark in the mirror, feels the ridge of every bruise and bite. 

He shivers. 

Will jumps as if pulled from a dream when his phone starts to vibrate against the table. It reads 'Molly Graham'. He picks it up, puts it down, and then picks it up and takes the call. 

'Hello Molly.' He says, his voice placid and raw, blatantly fucked open. 

He knows that she will know.


End file.
